


Tiryag

by Billywick, selwyn



Series: A Shudder Before The Beautiful (Transformers Roleplay fiction) [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>quo fata ferunt: where the fates bear us to.</p><p>The greatest beauty is the one created by chance. Old lives are shed for the new, though insecurities still cling. Between mishaps, stumbles, and demons of the mind, Pharma and Tarn may be able to build something beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (This is a behemoth of a roleplay which is loosely based on the happenings of MTMTE. As per usual for my uploaded roleplays, there is a lot of pov hopping. If that doesn't disrupt your enjoyment, I invite you to join our adventure. The parts will be posted in reading order and tagged by which pairing they address.)

When Pharma had envisioned his escape from Autobot justice, he hadn’t quite pictured this much work. The DJD had plenty that needed doing, from the rearming of the division to Tarn’s special requests concerning fabrication. 

And the medic had proven his skills to be varied and ranged, producing an almost exact replica of the purple monstrosity Tarn had used as his face for so long. The locks worked differently this time, there would be no easy way to tear it off without taking the tankformer’s actual face with it, but Pharma figured that Tarn would prefer not to lose it ever again. Pharma kind of wondered how Megatron had done so in the first place, but he had the good sense not to ask.

Somehow, he’d completely forgotten what Tarn had promised to happen next as he waited for the DJD’s commander, his commander, to enter the medibay and receive his fine piece of work.

 

_ Drill… cast… lasercutter…  _ Tarn checked through his small array of tools, visualizing the branding process. He had the drill for extracting the sentio metallica, the cast to place the soft metal in, lasercutter for details… everything else was in the medibay already, including the medic himself. Pharma thought Tarn was only going down to retrieve his new mask, and Tarn let him keep that illusion up until the moment came. It was easier to trap the medic like that, than give him space to squeeze out.

Putting it all in his subspace, Tarn went down to the medibay where Pharma waited.

“Pharma,” he said, “the mask?”

 

“Is finished.” Pharma held up his completed piece, oddly proud by how similar it looked to the old mask. He could have made it from memory, but Tarn had given him very specific instructions. The symbol it represented, Pharma couldn’t care less about. But Tarn would be wearing his work as his face, and of that, Pharma could indeed feel pride. 

Though he could have just as easily delivered the mask to the bridge, where Tarn spent most of his time lounging in the captain’s seat.

“The locks may sting a little.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Tarn sat down in front of Pharma, face upturned so Pharma could install the mask. “Lock it in. No one should be able to remove it but me. That includes you, Pharma.”

His optics were still mismatched, but that would soon be remedied. The mask would soon be back and Tarn a little more whole. No more startling himself with his own face, so unaccustomed was he to seeing his bare derma on display.

 

Pharma hesitated, trying to soak in the appearance of Tarn before he sealed it away behind the cold, cruel piece of metal in his servos. It was a shame. For a monster, Tarn was incredibly attractive. Pharma would certainly miss being able to kiss him. Not that there had been a whole lot of it, but the tankformer recharged pretty heavily and yes, maybe Pharma had taken advantage of that once or twice of every time.

But he knew he had to do as expected and lightly pressed the mask into place, blue digits working to close each lock where it would bite itself into Tarn’s helm. Once it was finished, Pharma stepped back, immediately averting his gaze. Tarn was complete. Tarn was terribly complete. That old, familiar fear crawled back into his spark and he pulled his field tight.

 

Each sting of the locks falling into their proper place drew a sharp vent from Tarn. The weight of the metal was  _ back _ , sealing away his face from the world. He no longer had to control his expression under it, since everything but his optics was hidden away. Air no longer tickled his scar, or heated his derma.

He felt  _ right  _ again.

Tarn touched the locks softly, before moving onto his face. The cool purple metal, interrupted only by a few grooves. The slight raised section that allowed space for his nasal ridge. The sharp features, digging into his digits when he felt them.

“Good work,” he said, inordinately pleased by how hollow his voice sounded from behind the mask. “I’ll give this to you occasionally for repairs and touch-ups. Otherwise, however… no one will be seeing my face regularly again, aside from myself.”

 

Pharma said nothing. It was a damn shame. Tarn was immediately different, at least, felt different, with that mask back in place. As if it defined his purpose, his very being. It was a waste of a dedicated mech to a dead cause, and Pharma had such ambitious plans for Tarn. But patience was the key to his success, so he kept his disappointment to a bare minimum. 

“I will notify you when the new optic is ready.” Pharma turned away, dismissing himself and fidgeting with a panel underneath his surgical equipment table. He was still working on his own upgrades in his spare time, the saw almost ready for installation.

 

“Who said I was the only receiving something today?” Tarn withdrew the tools from his subspace, laying them out on the surgical tray. He plucked the welder out, and placed them besides his tools. “I did tell you it was time for you to receive your badge, didn’t I?”

_ ::Vos, lock the medibay from the remote console.:: _

There was hiss, then the doors shut with a click. His unit knew what Tarn had been planning, and waited with a sadistic glee for the medic’s reaction.

Now that the room was sealed and Pharma had nowhere to escape, Tarn relaxed. He waved at the medical slab invitingly. “Don’t try to avoid it, my dear doctor. Just lay down.”

 

Tension had Pharma freeze up for a moment. His optics travelled wildly to the tools Tarn produced and the locked doors. Whatever was coming wasn’t going to be pleasant, and suddenly, the overly polite actions of the other DJD members earlier made terrible sense. They knew this would happen, and they were probably watching.

Pharma’s field bristled, his wings fluttered and he was utterly not ready for this. He didn’t move towards the slab, spark whirring with apprehension.

“N-now?” Of course now. Tarn would never be mild-mannered or merciful enough to allow him preparation time. Pharma’s legs didn’t want to move, his entire being wanted to slip away through any crack in the wall.

“Couldn’t you have given me some warning?”

“And allow you to craft an excuse as to why you can’t have a badge? Hardly.” Tarn gestured at the slab again, though this time it was sharper. “On the slab, Pharma. Or should I assist you?”

He took the drill, giving it an experimental whirr. It’s thin shriek cut through the thick silence in the medibay, and Tarn turned his impassive mask in Pharma’s direction, optics glowing. “Don’t make me wait any longer than I must.”

 

There was no way to avoid this. No way he could slither and talk his way out of it. Everything in Pharma wanted him to flee, to transform and fly, somewhere, anywhere, even if it was incredibly irrational considering they were aboard a ship and his spaceflight capabilities were severely limited.

With slow, unsteady steps, Pharma approached the slab. His field flared, his plating tight as if it could protect him against Tarn’s tools and invasive command.

The medic didn’t try to meet Tarn’s gaze, but he was terrified. He felt his chestplate lock even tighter into place, a purely instinctual response to the immediate threat.

 

“Lay down,” he instructed, brandishing the drill in Pharma’s direction. “And open your chest plates. This doesn’t need to be  _ difficult _ .”

Was Tarn enjoying some of Pharma’s terror? Undoubtedly. Was his patience ever-lasting? Definitely not. The longer Pharma tried to avoid his fate, the keener Tarn grew. He strode the slab, putting a heavy servo on the small of Pharma’s back.

“Are you afraid?”

 

_ Yes _ . The answer was undoubtedly yes. How could he not be afraid? Tarn was commanding him to open his chestplate, expose his spark. He may as well have been tied down and left to a sparkeater, because it came to just about the same amount of danger.

But Pharma didn’t have a way out. Risk his spark or guarantee death. The options were limited. The medic looked anywhere else, fixating on a spot above Tarn’s shoulder. Anywhere but that cruel visage.

“No.”

_ Liar. _ He was such a poor liar.

But none of his words mattered as he illuminated the medibay with his spark, chestplates opening despite his every urge to seal them tight. In its case, his spark jumped, erratically, afraid, terrified.

 

They liked to dance around their situation, exchanging power and favors in any way that suited them, playing the eternal game of chasing and retreating while both sides leveraged for dominance. For whatever reason, Tarn liked to pretend to give into Pharma, letting him assume he had any power over him long enough for Pharma’s inflated ego to assert itself. Pharma always fell for it, the vain, lovely thing, fluffing up and preening as he saw his so-called superiority come through. However, when push came to shove, and all the cards were revealed…

… they both knew who  _ really  _ had any power.

It took a little grease on the gears to make sure the situation would play out in Tarn’s favor, but what else was the blue light of Pharma’s spark, if not submission? Pharma knew he couldn’t win here, and so he showed Tarn his soft underbelly for the dim hope of mercy.

Pharma was  _ lucky  _ Tarn couldn’t yet find a reason to end him, once and for all.

Tarn pushed Pharma down onto the slab, setting the drill down beside his helm. Keeping one servo wrapped snugly around Pharma’s neck, just in case he had the not-so-bright idea of struggling, Tarn sent an irreverent servo right into his sparkchamber.

He touched the warm sentio metallica around it first, feeling its give and shape, wondering where he could drill. He touched it with the same peculiar delicacy he afforded Pharma’s wings, even taking care to not inflict cosmetic damage. The light buzz of the spark’s plasma against his digits could not be ignored any longer, however, and Tarn brushed a digit as close as he dared, just barely touching the surface of the spark itself. It was scalding hot to the touch, fluttering with fear and anxiety, seeming to try and shrink back into its chamber to escape his invasive touch.

“I wonder,” he said, tone low and intimate as if they were lovers, keeping the tip of his claw hovering only a hair away from the spark, “if this part of you is as  _ responsive _ to my touch as the rest of you. Shall we test that theory, Pharma?”

 

This wasn't going to end well. Pharma always feared for his spark around Tarn, but it had never been this exposed. And for good reason. Now, the tankformer didn't have to wonder what his spasming, frantic spark looked like. It was right there, under his claw, and Pharma felt utterly paralyzed. Death had brushed by him frequently, but never had it mocked him to his faceplate like right now.

“Doesn’t your talent render that question mute?” He spoke with more bravery than he possessed, optics straining to see Tarn’s claw. He wanted this over with, he braced himself for excruciating pain.

 

“Who says I have to use it at all?”

Tarn pressed the tip of his claw down, feeling it scratch the surface of the sphere. He pushed in a little deeper, watching Pharma’s reaction. Would he scream? Beg for mercy? Tarn had such _ few  _ opportunities to ever play with a spark in person, it was really quite fascinating…

“It would make everything  _ far  _ too easy for me.”

 

Pharma did want to scream. His mouth opened but no sound escaped his muted vocalizer. He was here for a ritual, not as a sacrifice.  Tarn was as complete as his masked faceplate. Being his plaything was not part of his grand masterplan. But Pharma wasn't the one in control anymore. He probably never was, even if this medibay was supposed to be his domain.  

“Is this really necessary?” His voice had become a mere whisper, terrified to raise it above a certain level.

 

“I think you’ve forgotten some  _ key points _ ,” Tarn said, drawing his claw back a fraction. He continued to scratch it lightly, seemingly contemplating how else he could hurt Pharma  _ just enough _ . “You don’t have power, Pharma, and you  _ never  _ did. Do you think I’m blind to your little tricks and turnabouts?”

He let the question hang there, staring at the spark under his deceptively light touch, then looked at Pharma. “So I think it’s time we’ve settled this matter between us for good. So take a letter, Pharma, because I will only say this once. Nod if you understand.”

“One. You will not disobey direct orders from me, or try to talk your way out of things. Like this matter with the badge -- repeat incidents will not be tolerated.” He tapped Pharma’s spark once, a little harder than was wise.

“Two. There will be no attempts to sabotage me, or my team. Sabotage is treason, and you are well aware of how I feel about  _ traitors _ .” Two taps.

“And three. You will be a Decepticon, so you will  _ keep  _ to the principalities of Decepticonhood. Restrain your disdain for the Cause, Pharma, and I in turn will restrain my  _ talent _ .” Three taps.

“Am I understood?”

 

Pharma couldn’t do much but nod. Anything else would have been pure suicide. Tarn’s touch was too close, his spark too exposed for any attempts of deception. No way out. No power, helpless before the monster he’d chosen to follow.

Decepticon. He would be a decepticon. Pharma’s servos clenched on the slab, scratching small grooves into his palms. This was one of those moments that he could only endure and he likened it to their first deal. Him, kneeling before Tarn in the cold, waiting for judgement from above, from a beast that could not hope to appreciate every ounce of Pharma’s prestigious existence. A violent lout who dressed himself in the tastes of a class unbecoming of his brutish existence, the luxuries of a class of mecha he would never belong to.

And yet it was Pharma who had sunk so low. Pharma who had to nod and expose his flickering spark, the blue tendrils in danger of flicking out to those claws. He had no control over their actions, but every part of him knew that Tarn was bad news for his health.

 

“ _ Good _ ,” Tarn purred, and his talent poured out like honey, sweet and cloying, caressing Pharma’s spark like a hand petting a particularly obedient pet. “ _ See how easy life is when you just  _ **_listen_ ** ?”

His touch transformed from harsh and jagged, to delicate strokes over Pharma’s spark. Even the servo around his neck halted, instead moving to cradle the side of Pharma’s helm. The hellish glow from Tarn’s optics softened to a pleasant haze. Just like that, Tarn went from the edge of burgeoning sadism, to benevolence.

“ _ None of this needs to be difficult, my dear doctor. _ ”

 

Pharma felt like he was arriving in the eye of a storm, his frame shaking and still steeped in fear, but suddenly the winds that buffeted his wings cradled him gently, allowing him to drift into an illusion of safety. The voice on his spark, it pulsed a new lease on life into it. What had been terrified turned to intrigue, what had been rightfully cautious grew complacent. When Tarn’s claws feigned a little distance, hesitant blue light followed them out of Pharma’s sparkchamber. His optics fell to a low light, the medic unable to summon anything spiteful with his spark so enchanted with Tarn’s talent.

A tiny, tiny part of Pharma’s mind remained sane, watching this sluggish lowering of all of his defenses with concern. Would Tarn appreciate such an obedient plaything? He may be needing his services as a medic, but a bored Tarn would most likely end with Pharma as a sacrifice to the t-cog collection cause.

“...Yes, Tarn.”

 

“ _ I do love it when we reach an understanding together. _ ” Still stroking Pharma’s spark softly, Tarn slowly reached for his drill. “ _ I will be starting the process now. Don’t panic, or my grip might… slip. _ ”

Despite his less than reassuring words, Tarn didn’t hesitate as he tapped out a spot near the bottom of Pharma’s chamber and started his drill. “ _ This won’t hurt at all, Pharma. It may be uncomfortable, but there is no pain _ .”

The drill descended on the sentio metallica, piercing the metal in one fast motion. Tarn hummed over the whirr of the drill, keeping Pharma’s spark passive.

 

His spark and frame were at odds, one spasming with pain, alerting all of his systems to the dangers of his open chestplate, and the other bathed in false serenity. There was no pain. That’s what his spark knew and conveyed, the pinging of his armor and defense protocols becoming nothing but a distant annoyance. Pharma lay still under Tarn’s grasp, enduring without comment.

If Tarn ever relented on his talent, the medic would very much be screaming. Tarn wasn’t drilling into any old piece of armor, after all. 

But with his mind and spark lulled into submission and a deceptively comfortable ‘trust’, Pharma felt nothing.

“No pain...” he repeated quietly.

 

“ _ None _ ,” Tarn confirmed. He took the small clamps from the tray, and gently extracted the sentio metallica he’d drilled out. It was still warm with leftover plasma. “ _ Look _ ,” he held it before Pharma, “ _ It’s as pretty as the rest of you _ .”

It  _ was  _ rather pretty. It reflected the light in interesting patterns, seemingly patterned in multitudes of rainbow hues before clearing out into clean chrome. A small tongue of plasma flicked off it, reaching into the empty air.

“ _ You’re looking at your future.  _ **_Our_ ** _ future. _ ”

 

“Our future? You and I, together?” Pharma looked at his own extracted, precious metal and held up a servo, if only to touch the wisp of plasma. Their future. Together? Yes, that suited him. Monstrous Tarn, promising him a future. He liked the sound of it. Even if it was to take this hideous shape of being a Decepticon. His fear from before seemed foolish now. Tarn’s voice soothed his spark, if not his frame, which frantically demanded he lock his spark away and never open it up for Tarn to look at again.

But not whilst he was as dazed and persuaded like this. He tapped his own, open plating in question, but didn’t motion to protect himself.

 

“ _ Do you doubt me, after everything _ ?” Tarn took the cast, and pressed the sentio metallico into it. A small torch softened the metal enough for him to press it all  in, until there were no air pockets to deform the design. He kept the heat until the metal was pink, and smoothed out the back.

It was cooled -- first in water, then in the setter to harden the design. After a few moments, the shaped sentio metallica popped out, now a grimacing Decepticon face. Tarn held it up proudly.

“ _ Not a single flaw. I did always like to save my best for you.” _

 

Pharma had nodded mutely in response to Tarn’s question. The sight of the badge had him close his chestplate, if only to expose the barren patch of metal where it should be resting. Pharma framed the spot with his servos, not particularly self-conscious. All that occurred to his sluggish mind was to try and appeal to Tarn, to make this not a punishment, but a reward. And that could only happen if he behaved in a way Tarn would approve of.

“You took a long time to claim me.” he mused, optics slowly flickering with the return of his active mind. Tarn’s voice still had his spark, but in the absence of causing it pain, the miasma was beginning to slowly clear.

 

“ _ These things cannot be rushed. Only with time to ripen will the fruit be sweet. _ ”

He took up the welder, carefully positioning the badge in the dead center. Holding it still, Tarn began to weld it on. He didn’t have Pharma’s deft touch, but his servos were steady and he had the patience to weld it on by inches, sacrificing speed for quality.

“ _ Since you were so good during this, I may even reward you. I am generous to those who obey. _ ”

 

A delighted smile played over Pharma’s face. Tarn’s talent was far more potent than any dampener he’d ever administered. It was a wonder that it had not helped him reach his goal of killing Megatron. But then again, Pharma was in no mood to contemplate this now. He could dwell on such thoughts when he was alone again. Right now, Tarn was doing his  _ best  _ for him. Pharma could feel the welding on his thin plating, but he was not entirely fragile. As long as it wasn’t applied to his servos, he could stand some pain. Especially if he was promised a reward.

“I have been good. So good. I  _ deserve  _ this.”

 

“ _ How quick you are to agree _ ,” Tarn chuckled, and the sound was amplified by his talent into the low rumble of incoming thunder. “ _ Perhaps you can describe your ideal reward for me then. _ ”

The welding was done. Tarn took up the sander to create smooth edges and a crisp badge that said Pharma was a  _ proud  _ Decepticon, initiated by someone who knew his business. He sanded down the weld marks into smoothness again, feeling it out occasionally to see if any lumps had formed. That done, he took up his buffer.

Tarn did no half-way jobs, after all.

 

The sluggish but pleasant haze of Pharma’s mind conjured up the sweetest of fantasies. Tarn, at his side, not looming over him. Tarn, a loyal and dedicated lover who would carry Pharma on his servos. Tarn, entirely loyal to only him. But the medic had enough sense to know that this wasn’t what Tarn was asking to hear. 

“You. Dedicated entirely to pleasing me. Your faceplate without the mask, appreciating the perfection of my frame. And slowly. You slowly drive me towards pleasure until I almost beg. And then...well. I  _ do _ love your spike. It’s a fine, fine piece of equipment.” 

 

To his credit, Tarn was caught flatfooted for only a few moments, his buffing halting as he stared at Pharma. Under his mask, a disbelieving smile broke out.

“ _ You certainly have a talent for the unexpected,  _ don’t you, Pharma?” His talent stopped abruptly, cutting off the flow of passivity to Pharma’s spark. Tarn buffed the badge, then polished it. It suited Pharma far better than the Autobot badge ever did.

“Let’s not be too greedy here. You will have to narrow it all down. You’ve hardly done anything to earn my… ah, ‘dedication entirely to pleasing you’.”

 

Pharma returned to being fully aware just in time to realize what he said to Tarn. It was too late to take it back, but by Primus, did he want to. Now that the talent wasn’t lulling him anymore, he became acutely aware of the burning sharp sensation on his chest which was the new weld, and the ache of where his most precious metal was missing from his sparkchamber. With a hefty cycle of his vents, Pharma became fully lucid and immediately, resentment and disgust permeated his field.

“I...didn’t mean that. You...I don’t want your reward.” Careful. He had to curb his poison glossa, or risk losing worse than a little sentient metal.

“I mean,” his servo stroked over the work Tarn had abandoned. It was, unfortunately, flawless.

“This is my future now. It...is only natural I bear its mark.”

Oh, everything in him bristled with fury at having to make such a false claim, but if he was going to commit to being a Decepticon, he needed to continue to practice deception. 

“ _ Thank you _ so much for your work, Tarn.”

 

“You  _ don’t  _ want a reward? After so vividly describing it? How strange.” Tarn set his tools aside, running a servo down Pharma’s chest and waist, “And I here was anticipating it. Unfortunate, since I had so many  _ ideas  _ for you.”

 

No matter how tempting, Pharma could not take the bait here. He’d obviously revealed too much in his...influenced state. Tarn held the power of the conversation to a degree that Pharma did not want to pinprick. Better to deny Tarn his victory and abstain from indulging in their usual play of interfacing in the medibay. He was a fully fledged Decepticon now, was he not? That was the first step. He was entitled to the smallest measure of respect from Tarn, no matter how superficial, and the only thing he could possibly do is not give in to Tarn at every waking moment. Deny him the instant gratification.

“That’s right. I didn’t do anything. Why should I deserve a reward from my commander?” Pharma scooted as he could on the slab, trying to make his movements casual, his field easily flippant.

 

Tarn cocked his helm at the sudden change. It was… new. When had Pharma denied anything -- least of all this? He decided to test the limitations on this newfound restraint.

“So you  _ don’t  _ want my maskless face? Or making you beg for me? Or,” he grew amused, “my  _ spike _ , since it’s such a nice piece of equipment?”

Inwardly, he laughed at Pharma.  _ Perhaps I should do this to him more often. _

 

“There will be no need for any of it.” Pharma’s voice came out uncharacteristically high, and was certainly at odds with the cool demeanour he had intended to show to Tarn. He couldn’t let this situation drag on much longer. His servo slid over the new badge again. It was far more elegant than the Autobots’ grim sigil, he’d give the Decepticons that.

“I would to return to work and take up no more of your time,  _ commander _ .”

 

“I see.” Tarn squeezed Pharma’s hip, before moving back. “You should indeed return to your duties, and I to mine. I won’t be taking up any of your time,  _ doctor _ .”

_ ::Unlock the doors.:: _

There was a click as Tarn gathered his tools, then tucked them away. He moved for the doors, pausing briefly for a parting shot at Pharma.

“Tonight might be an  _ exception _ , however.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You can’t be serious.”

Vos hissed loudly, jabbing his servo into the air jerkily.  _ Hiss. Hisss. _

“That doesn’t make sense. That’s just stupid.”

There was an offended little hiss at that. Vos turned his back on Tesarus, EM field snippy. The three of them were in the crew quarters, sitting in the common room. Tarn was doing skeleton shift on the bridge, letting them of-duty in a rare bout of generosity likely stemming from his good mood.

“What’s he saying?” Helex looked up from the novella he was engrossed in, his usual ignorance to the outside world when he was reading falling away to interest at Tesarus and Vos’ one-sided argument.

“Well, he’s saying that he thinks he knows why Pharma is on the ship.”

“Oh?” Piqued, Helex crossed the larger set of servos, the smaller still clutching his book. “Yeah?”

Tesarus grimaced. “Vos’  _ theory _ is that Pharma has blackmail over Tarn, and that’s why Tarn let him on the ship. Which is  _ stupid _ .”

_ Hiss. Hiss. Hiiiss. _

“Because Tarn would’ve  _ killed  _ him,  _ duh _ . Why let a risk run around, alive? Tarn’s not the sort of guy to just let that kind of thing happen. Pharma would’ve fixed us with Tarn’s cannon to his helm and the instant the last repair’s done…” Tesarus held up a servo in the shape of a gun, “ _ bam _ .”

_ Hiisss _ .

“I  _ don’t  _ have a theory about why he’s here, ‘cause I don’t  _ care _ anymore. Pharma’s got branded, didn’t he? Decepticon’s Decepticon, no matter how much we wanna punch his face inside out.”

Helex interrupted Vos before the gunformer could formulate another pissy series of hisses. “You  _ don’t  _ want to know? Not even a little bit?”

“I like my spark the way it is.”

Helex didn’t even try to deny the fact that Tarn would find out, sooner or later. “Who says we’re going to hurt him?”

“How is he gonna answer anything  _ without  _ getting hurt?”

_ Hiiss? _

“Break his stuff? He’s a medic, we  _ need  _ him to need his  _ stuff _ .”

Helex made an impatient noise. “Don’t you  _ want  _ to know?”

“No!”

This time, Vos and Helex both levelled him disbelieving looks, until Tesarus’ will wavered. “Fine. But not enough to put myself on the line just so I can know. It’s not that important.”

“It kind of is,” Helex said, “since we all know what happened the last time we let Tarn do his thing without trying to find out the details.”

They all winced at the memory. Vos put a servo on the freshly healing weld scar on his shoulder, so much bigger on him compared to the giants he slunk around.

“Okay. Fine.  _ Fine _ . But no hurting him.”

The entire trek down to the medibay consisted of Vos scouting ahead, telling them the coast was clear of Tarn, and Tesarus and Helex following him as stealthily as they could manage. For two people that just  _ barely  _ fit in the tight corridors, it was a notable feat.

They finally got the medibay, as silently as they could. Tesarus opened the door, letting Vos take the lead inside. Helex followed him after, grinning.

“Hello, Pharma. How’s your stay so far? Managing to  _ fit in _ , at least?” Helex nodded at the brand on his chest.

 

When the two massive frame squeezed into his medibay, Pharma knew it could only be an ill omen. The rest of the DJD seemed to think he was an amusement, a pastime that they could find whenever boredom struck. Well. Wasn’t that what Tarn did, exactly?

He tried not to think about it. He was their medic now, the badge gleaming on his chest. Pharma was both weirdly proud and mortified by it. It felt as if he was wearing part of his spark, not just his sentio metallica, on his plating.  Now, if only it afforded him a modicum of respect, he might even grow to like the sharp angles of it.

He was on edge, the moment he received the unexpected company. His tools were packed away so he couldn’t possibly busy himself with anything. He’d just been running an inventory check, a casual routine that helped pass the time. Pharma didn’t mind being in the medibay, but he preferred to be alone.

“There better be some kind of medical emergency with any of you three in here. I don’t appreciate being interrupted.”

He wasn’t doing anything in particular, but they didn’t know that. Pharma hated when Tarn’s crew (his own now too, though he was loathed to admit it) was off leash and free to pester him.

 

“Medical emergency? We wouldn’t call it that. Call it a friendly discussion among crewmates. Getting to know each other and all that.” Helex squeezed himself in along the wall, leaving space for Tesarus on the opposing side. Vos slunk in between their legs, skittering onto the medical slab, hunched over to accommodate his long limbs.

They all settled in, then watched Pharma. They studied him, gazes lingering on the badge on his chest.

“Tarn didn’t hold back on your badge,” Helex said, reluctantly approving, “some slackers use protoform metal instead. Probably hurt something awful, didn’t it?”

 

“I survived,” Pharma wasn’t going to talk about how compliant Tarn had made him, how easy the procedure had been cradled in Tarn’s grasp with the honey of his talent thickly encasing his spark in its thrall. Pharma couldn’t remember any pain although he knew he should have felt more than a dull ache.

“Anything to prove my  _ dedication _ to my new cause.”

 

“Don’t talk like that.”

Both Vos and Helex glanced at Tesarus in surprise, who was looking irritated. “We all know you don’t mean it. You’re not fit to talk about the Cause like that.”  _ You don’t deserve it _ went unsaid, but implied.

The awkwardness transformed into tension.

“You’re not really trying to be a Decepticon, are you? You don’t  _ believe _ .”

 

“Believe in what?  _ Megatron _ ? Neither do you.” Pharma wondered how much rope he had now, how much leeway wearing this badge afforded him. Enough to voice his opinion? There was only one way to find out. 

“Or the entire peaceful tyranny concept? Because it was doomed to fail, being approached as it was. You can’t force change of that scale and not expect resistance. You can’t scramble a whole planet and expect it to end in anything but self-destruction.”

Pharma knew his opinion wasn’t...perhaps the most endearing quality of his to a bunch of Decepticons, but they wanted the truth out of him and he’d give it. They couldn’t kill him. Tarn had said so. That would do. Pharma trusted in Tarn’s absolute mastery of his crew.

“But I will say this about the Cause, as I see it; at least it knows itself for what it is. Tyranny. Maybe some more of that would have prevented the war in the first place.”

 

“Megatron isn’t the entire Cause,” Tesarus hissed, bristling as Pharma’s words dug up old wounds. All three had their hackles up, EM fields souring as they leaned in close to the medic, digits twitching to maul him. It was only their fear of Tarn that held back the sudden onset of loathing.

Pharma was, in their opinion, a living symbol of the old Autobot regime. Optimus Prime might be their leader, but even he had more ties to Decepticonhood than this belligerent, vain creature among them. Pharma was forged for his function, deemed inexpendable by the Senate laws, living amongst the privileged thanks to a frame he didn’t deserve and an education granted freely. He had no right to sneer at their Cause, not when he knew nothing.

“More of Autobot control, you mean,” Helex said, the tracks down his face glowing brighter, “Stronger Senate jurisdiction, more separation between the populace, our lives being dictated by the whims of the few forged at the top.  _ You  _ don’t know what it was like.”

“Forged medic like you?” Helex snorted, looking down at Pharma with an aggressive, contemptuous pity. “You lived in your ivory tower with the rest of the science caste, sneering down at the rest of us for being created  _ lower _ . You’ve never gone a day thinking you might get discarded because your use for society ran out. You’re happy to live on your wheel, spinning until one Senator is on top, then another, and on and on.”

“You had everything fed to you, since the day you came online. When was the last time you actually got something because you worked for it? Wherever you were on Cybertron before the war and Delphi -- did you get those because you actually deserved it, or because you fit into the agenda of a Senator somewhere?” 

“Let’s face it; you never wanted to break the wheel because whichever way it spun,  _ you  _ were always safe.”

 

Pharma should have wagered that he’d be getting a strong reaction with just a few unpleasant words about the oh-so-precious Cause. These adorable fools, small-minded revolutionaries. Did they think their Cause made them exempt? That they were not part of the cycle? The system always wins over the few unruly cogs. Pharma had only pledged his allegiance to the cogs because in his small, personal system, it was the safest for him in his condition. The Autobots no longer trusted him and Tarn still held power. It was as simple as that, moral high ground be damned.

“Here it is, the worker’s lament. I’m sorry, is that supposed to have an impact on me? Should I feel inclined to be sympathetic to your reasons simply because you claim I don’t understand them? That’s interesting. But you miss an important step in your accusations of me; I don’t care. So you were afraid your function would cease to exist. That doesn’t sound like good enough reason to me; forged or not, I am a medic; my function will never cease to be important. You’re approaching this from an entirely mute point, if you are trying to convince me of the deep, moral righteousness of your cause.  _ Our cause _ .” 

Pharma brushed over his badge, removing invisible specks of dirt.

“Maybe the wheel, as you call it, is a little bigger than senators and warlords.”

 

“So you don’t believe, and you  _ admit  _ you don’t believe. What is a Decepticon, if they don’t believe?”

It would be nice to strip Pharma of his servos and his wings. See how long that arrogance would last once he got to see his legs disappear into shreds in Tesarus’ grinder, how it felt to feel his protoform slowly melt in Helex’s smelter. Make him watch, optics online, as Vos’ mask descended on his pretty face and ruined it.

“Then why are you on our ship? Why did Tarn let you on, if you don’t believe? What did you  _ do _ ?”

 

“This again? This matter is between Tarn and I. I know you are all his eager little workers, and I know I am no longer as expendable as you’d like me to be. I have value. I can thank my function for that.” Pharma knew he was stirring the pot but the unbound rage that couldn’t touch him permeating through three fields? Priceless. He felt like he was dancing on the edge of a raging inferno and getting away with singed wingtips.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I can do. And although I suppose I could explain my personal discourse with the regime in place, I don’t feel inclined to. This?” Pharma flicked a digit against his shiny badge, “Is freedom. Freedom to operate as I should. Without pesky moral limitations. Without obligations to a group of old mecha that are too stubborn to move on into a glorious future.”

“A scientist? We have one already.”

Vos gave a petulant hiss from the slab. “You’re a medic, but you’re not  _ that  _ irreplaceable. Not so much that Tarn wouldn’t have told us servos off for everything. You don’t need anything but your servos and processor to work. So why’s he telling us to keep you in one piece?”

There was another piece to this puzzle, just another they couldn’t quite pin.

 

“Interesting that you seem to think I could tell you, even if I wanted to.” Pharma didn’t dare turn his back to the three of them, but other than inspecting his own servos, there was not much to do in his current position. At least they were uniquely focused on getting an answer out of him today. How much would Tarn punish him if he let slip just why the resident medic was sharing a room with the commander. He wondered if they could be quick enough to connect the pieces if they got to see the dents on his thighs and the streaks of purple against his turbine. He’d polished his cockpit this very morning, or there would be very visible marks on it now.

“Why do you think? You’re all mecha with a brain module. You must have some theories.”

 

Suspicion made Helex grab Pharma’s shoulder vent to keep him in place, while Vos darted around him, looking. He inspected the places were kibble would be first -- some kind of hidden weaponry? -- before going for the… other options.

_ Hiss… hiss? _

“That’s total slag.”

_ Hiss! _

It was an insistent one, as Vos scrabbled at Pharma’s back.  _ Hiss. Hiss! _

“No, why would he --? Helex, bend him over.” Tesarus shuffled closer despite the tight space, managing to look as if his optics were wide despite the obvious impossibility. “Vos, you’ve got to be glitching on me.”

Helex pushed Pharma on the slab, so that his back was on display. One massive servo encircled his whole helm, keeping him in place, while another held his legs together.

“What are we looking at?”

Neither mech seemed to hear Helex. Tesarus was peering down at Pharma’s back, grimacing. “Oh, that’s just disgusting.”

“What  _ is  _ it?”

Vos decided to help Helex out. He patted a small servo, then pointed at Pharma’s turbine. Small purple scratches were there, almost lost in the yellow.

“So what -- no.  _ No _ . Tarn has to have better standards than that.”

More pointing. More paint streaks, dents around the legs. Vos’ hiss was triumphant, but uncomfortable.

“I… I want to wash my servos now.”

 

Pharma had made some very undignified noises to go along with his incredibly awkward position, being inspected like a spare part. He knew he should have spent longer in the washrack, but usually, these three left him alone and he could get some peaceful hours in if he started his daily work early. 

This was Tarn’s fault. Absolutely. He’d been the one to leave marks in such unreachable places. He was the one who had an insatiable appetite for interfacing. But still, Pharma felt uncovered, and vulnerable.

And he couldn’t move at all. 

“Then how about you let go of me and go do that?” he snapped from under Helex’ servo.

 

They ignored him.

“So I guess this means he’s, like… a berthwarmer?” Tesarus sounded uncertain, but hopeful. “So Tarn  _ didn’t  _ suddenly decide he was a good Decepticon, he just wanted him along for… you know.”

Vos peered around Helex’s massive digits.  _ Hiss _ .

“Well, yeah. He’s got the face for it. And frame, if you like the skinny type.”

Another hiss.

“So he’s not staying in the medibay, like you thought. You keep the berthwarmer in the berth, right? Medical skills are just a perk.”

Yes, this revelation was much easier to swallow than the others. As strange as it was to remember Tarn  _ was  _ a mech who  _ did  _ have mechanical vices, rather than being a force of nature that existed on T-cogs and loyalty, it let everything make  _ sense _ .

Helex let go of Pharma. “We understand your value  _ now _ .”

“Still kinda disgusting.” Tesarus leaned back, “Don’t you know how to maintain decency? Clean the paint, by the Pit.”

There was an agreeing hiss from Vos.

 

Pharma sat up, silent and seething. How dare they? How dare they manhandle him as they please and make guesses at his value to Tarn? How dare they assume he was nothing but something to keep Tarn’s spike sheathed? 

He didn’t dignify them with a response, suddenly very tired of dealing with the trio. At least now they knew, and now they’d leave him alone. They could finally see reason why Tarn wanted him around, but Pharma despised that they knew. It had been...private. And now, it was only his problem, never Tarn’s. No one would step up to the commander about his interfacing habits, but Pharma was the whore traitor Autobot who had been brought along for the ‘ride’ quite literally.

Pharma folded his field in tight and kept silent, waiting for the trio to be bored and move out of the medibay. It was high-time he did clean up and hammer the dents out of his armor.

 

“Right, right. We get it now. Thank you for being so… illuminating with us. I think we’ll be taking our leave.” Helex gave a mocking nod, even as he discreetly scrubbed at the servos that’d been holding Pharma.

They left with a little more mockery, even as Helex wrote up the report for Pharma’s apparent non-belief for Tarn to read. Freely admitting opposing values to the Cause’s way was an offense, after all. And not even Pharma’s role could save him from the fact that Tarn had only one true love in his life, and that was the Cause.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Never had he been happier to enter the captain’s quarters. Pharma had been on edge all day, expecting the barbs and comments to continue. Helex, Tesarus and Vos were surprisingly agile and unsurprisingly merciless in their entertainment. They seemed to think suggestive commentary, looks and hisses were the perfect way to brighten their day and make Pharma’s miserable. They were correct.

But the captain’s quarters were off-limits to them, unlike the medibay, so they were safe. Hopefully, Tarn was not here yet. Pharma stalked into the room, looking around carefully. No glowing optics in the darkness, no smooth honey voice promising pleasure and pain.

A relieved sigh fell from his lips and Pharma crawled onto the berth, spreading out his limbs and flopping onto his back. He’d been so tense all day, his wings ached. Not afraid, just...tense. Was every day going to be like this? Was he going to live with a permanent mutilation because of the crippling fear his supposed ‘crew’mates inspired in him?

How tiresome. He wanted to work on things that required more than half of his attention. He wanted to continue what he had begun with the Red Rust, which he was currently recreating just  _ in case  _ things went awry with Tarn. He wanted to feel safe from the verge of pain and death, for the first time since he set foot on Messatine.

Tarn stalked into the captain’s quarters with the assured confidence that Pharma would be there. He didn’t bother with the washrack, simply rolling onto the berth until there was only a little space between. From here, he could sense Pharma’s poor mood.

Well. This whole game was a system of carrots and sticks, so he’d dangle some kindness before Pharma, then start grilling him about the report he’d received earlier.

He put a servo on Pharma’s waist, propping himself up onto his elbow. “You’re upset,” he said, tone mild.

 

  
“I’m fine.” He definitely wasn’t, but there was no use in complaining to Tarn about it. Who had come straight to the berth and somehow mantled around Pharma now, both a comfort and a threat. But mostly the former, considering the day Pharma had. Maybe he should get out in front of the trio, warn Tarn that his reputation was...well, what? Helex, Tesarus and Vos didn’t care if Tarn screwed around, they just seemed to disgusted that it was a former Autobot. Did Tarn not have berthmates before? 

“They saw. They know we’ve been ‘facing. They know I’m your berthwarmer now.”

 

“... I see.” What else was he supposed to say to that? The fact that his unit knew about the interfacing didn’t bother Tarn, aside from the lack of privacy. They wouldn’t ever intrude on him, or pester him about it, so it was just another uncomfortable truth.

The DJD was a private, exclusive team that frequently spent long years in space chasing traitors. They knew  _ a lot  _ about each other.

The fact that they might’ve seen him with Pharma was unfortunate, however. Tarn would have to keep a closer optic on where they did what.

There was only one issue here.

“Berthwarmer?” he inquired, touching the side of Pharma’s waist. The exposed protoform there had always drawn his gaze… “That doesn’t sound entirely accurate. I wouldn’t take just anyone with me just for  _ interface _ .”

 

“Well then your subordinates don’t know you as well as they think they do.” Pharma let Tarn touch him without any repercussion, voluntary or involuntary. He was prone on the berth right now and the commander had come to him, offering caresses instead of sneering remarks and Pharma soaked it up like a sponge. Every droplet of gentle interaction, he greeded for. Tarn was both the worst and best company aboard this ship. Pharma hoped they’d have a larger one soon. He could make himself a secret workspace again, spend his time pilfering their supplies for his own projects...Patience. He had to keep himself alive first.

And maybe Tarn’s soft touch was a very, very welcomed relief to the tension of the day.

“They think you brought me to be your whore. Because I’m  _ pretty _ .”

 

Tarn rarely ever used empathy when dealing with people. Compassion was a muscle even less utilized. But even his stunted abilities in those areas could tell that Pharma was upset and angling for some kind of comfort about how he was a special mech who wasn’t expendable.

“Does what they think bother you that much?” Tarn continued to pet his waist, patiently watching Pharma. “I do think you are pretty. You’re hardly my  _ whore _ \-- for starters, I’m not paying you. This is merely part of our deal, Pharma. Mutual satisfaction. A whore has no use to me.”

 

“That’s reassuring, truly.” Pharma didn’t angle his gaze towards Tarn at all. He didn’t want to look at the mask. Instead, he could picture Tarn’s faceplate. Amused, perhaps, or a little concerned in that peculiar way that made his sensors crawl. Maybe Tarn wrapped protectively around him, or putting his crew in their place for making life so difficult for his favoured medic.

“It doesn’t matter what they think. It matters what  _ you  _ think and what they relay back to you.”

 

So Pharma might be more upset than he initially judged.

Tarn watched him, pointedly  _ not  _ looking at Tarn, and felt something like a sigh coming. He stifled it, before it accidentally set Pharma off further. At least he knew how to fix his mood.

_ Click _ . His mask slid off, showing Tarn’s expression of somewhat exasperated eternal patience. It was whisked off into his subspace, letting him lean down to touch his chevron to Pharma’s.

“I assure you that I do not think you’re my whore in any capacity, way, or form. I appreciate the unique skills you bring to my crew, along with the… experiences we’ve had.” There. That was his nugget of compassion for today.

“However, we do have some interesting things to discuss about what they’ve relayed to me, Pharma.”

 

Tarn’s face as well as his words had almost been enough to persuade Pharma’s temper for the better, a delighted expression ghosting over his face at seeing Tarn unmasked. However, it didn’t take hold, slipping away into tight-lipped worry the second the tankformer continued voicing his thoughts.

What could those oafs possibly have told Tarn? 

“And what is that? I do have decency, it’s just the turbine is hard to reach and I didn’t think anyone would bother me in the medibay today, where I was intending to take care of the dents, I swear.”

“That’s not what I meant. Though if you do have difficulty, you could just  _ ask  _ for my help.”

“What I’m here to talk about is the confession you made, about not  _ believing _ . I must say, that strongly disappoints me, Pharma. I know it’s a process, but they say you sounded quite  _ proud  _ about not believing.”

 

Oh. That. Pharma did dare to look now, into Tarn’s handsome face. Lying would serve him poorly here, this mech had always had a knack for guessing at his thoughts. And Tarn valued intelligence, did he not? Well. He also valued fanatical belief, which was possibly his only real flaw.

“You can’t expect me to understand your cause in so short an amount of time, Tarn. I have seen this war from the other side for a portion of my life. I’ve lived...a privileged life on Cybertron long before it began. I suspect even before you existed.” Pharma dared to reach for Tarn, though only to trace along his chestplate idly.

“Or may I not form my own understanding for the Cause I have committed myself to? Is it not my duty to find what it can do for me, so that I may do everything for it?”

 

“That… makes sense.” Tarn couldn’t quite agree with it all, but it wasn’t as big a crime as not believing. “I assume this means you will be actively trying to fix that problem. Anything else is unacceptable.”

Which meant Tarn could start showing Pharma his  _ collection _ . Like the bodies, and the speeches, and the  _ philosophical works _ . Wouldn’t that be delightful?

“I would be happy to guide you in learning the Decepticon ways and understanding the Cause on a deeper level. I have the first edition of  _ Towards Peace  _ on my walls on the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ . If we can get the ship back, remind me to show you.”

Tarn was about to give Pharma an approving nuzzle, before some of what he said caught up to him. “Before I existed?”

 

Well. Some of what he said was bound to raise questions. Pharma was relieved to have convinced Tarn that he was simply exploring his conviction as a new Decepticon, rather than arrogantly think himself above the Cause and use it for personal safety. Sometimes, he could lie. It helped that it had been partial truth.

“I think so. You’re what, just over four million years old?” Pharma found himself in an odd position about this. He’d already been a medic at work when Tarn was...well, he assumed him to be constructed. 

“I have at least half a million on you.”

 

“You estimated my age?” Tarn felt uneasy about that. It connected him to the past closer than he would’ve liked. People always assumed -- there were hundreds of theories of who Tarn was under the mask, whether he was pre-war or warborn.

“What else did you learn?” He needed to cover this. Now.

 

“I’m your medic. I replaced almost every single one of your parts. Of course I would be able to determine your age, Tarn.” Pharma felt insulted that the mech would ever consider it otherwise possible. Pharma had no interest in Tarn’s identity before he became what he was now, the most glaring example of a Decepticon to ever live.

“I’ve seen your face, your protoform, even your spark.  I learned a lot when I fixed you in the brig.”

But that wasn’t what Tarn wanted to know, was it? Pharma rested a servo on Tarn’s faceplate, sorely tempted to kiss the scarred derma he had missed seeing and touching ever since making that replacement mask.

“Whoever you were before...I could not find a trace.”

 

Relief flooded Tarn’s EM field, a fact he didn’t try to hide. Good. Pharma could never learn about  _ him _ , or what he used to be.

“Don’t ever try to learn,” he warned Pharma.

Putting his servo on top of Pharma’s, Tarn pressed a kiss to Pharma’s cheek. “Tell me -- what was life for you like before the war? Who did you know?”

 

The warning was placated by the kiss, Pharma entirely deciding that it didn’t matter who Tarn was before all of this. He was Tarn now, and that was who he would always see.

“I knew my colleagues. A few senators too. Shockwave was always a standout.” Pharma was careful about uncovering the seal of his memories, but they did feel good. He’d liked his life, he liked being who he was, a well-respected medic who enjoyed the admiration of everyone in his field of expertise, and the courtations of those that craved to know him more personally. He missed the events, the socialising, the gifts. He’d been so highly desired...

“I used to be on good terms with Ratchet. Before he became so involved with Orion Pax and his...division. I only met them once or twice. I never would have thought them to become important. They weren’t a part of my world, dealing with...well. Criminals and such. I didn’t keep track of them, perhaps I should have. Perhaps if I had, Autobot High Command wouldn’t have treated me as a disposable when the war began. Perhaps I should have pursued that handsome mech...oh, what was his designation? Romper? No.  _ Roller. _ ”

 

Tarn very carefully did not react. He did, however, regret asking that question. As amusing as it was to know Pharma would still be interested in him, now or then, Tarn’s usually dormant jealousy made itself known.

It was silly. Roller wasn’t even alive anymore.

It didn’t matter. Really, it didn’t.

Tarn still kissed Pharma, because he was here and now, and the past was long gone. A possessive rumble grew in his chest, something Tarn didn’t put any effort in stopping, and he closed the last little bit of space between them.

“And now you’re mine,” he said.

 

“Who would have guessed?” Pharma chuckled, wanting more after being given a kiss so freely. This, he liked about Tarn. The possessiveness that the medic deserved, because he was, contrary to popular belief, a damn fine catch. He was a beautiful forged medic and the best at what he did. Anyone should treasure him.

He returned the favour, kissing Tarn lightly, awaiting permission to show him more than just timid passion. 

“Can I ask you something, Tarn? It might be a little personal.”

 

“Go on,” he said, cautious. Distracting Pharma from the thoughts of before the war and Tarn’s identity before the mask would be worth it. Pharma was preening, he noticed. It was so easy to turn his bad moods around with just a few words and touches. Pharma craved positive attention. He probably thought it was his due, for some preposterous reason.

Maybe not entirely preposterous. Pharma wasn’t just any old mech.

 

“How often have you done this?” Pharma gestured between himself and the tankformer. It was a risk, a small one, to piss Tarn off with such a question, but if Tarn wasn’t going to give him the validation that he held Pharma in high regard, the medic would just have to obtain it for himself. 

“I’m just curious. The others didn’t seem all that surprised. Or maybe they are just appropriately respectful of you and won’t ask questions.”

 

“Our arrangement?” Tarn looked thoughtful. There’d been some others, but they were idle fancies at the most. Even then, they’d all occurred at Grindcore. There had been Deathsaurus, though it’d been nothing more than tension that didn’t pay off in the end.

“You’re the first.” The first to actually be part of his crew while Tarn ‘faced them. “I don’t take up with my division. You were an extenuating circumstance. They didn’t question you because they know better than to.”

Really, Pharma’s assumption that Tarn seemed to have several dalliances was beginning to irk him. “I don’t take up with people at whim just for the sensations. I have better things to do.”

 

“Of course. I’m sorry if that offended you.” Pharma tried his absolute best, but the smile still graced his face. The first. The only. That’s what he liked to hear. Pharma, just by his very nature, had been the first to make Tarn go to such lengths. It was more than flattering. It filled Pharma with pride and his field molded itself to Tarn’s. Just as his life had become completely warped by this mech, so had his sense of worth.

When Tarn was like this, Pharma didn’t question his attraction. This was as close to his fantasies as reality ever could be. The medic didn’t know when his hatred had turned to this sick sort of fascination and more.

“Did you ever think it would be like this? When I came to you on behalf of Delphi?”

 

“Did I imagine I would be recruiting you, and starting up this whole affair? No. You were undeniably attractive, but you were an Autobot. I wouldn’t have touched you, in the beginning. My will wavered, later on.”

He kissed a wingtip, silently accepting the apology. “You had a way of changing my mind and making me do things I really, really shouldn’t be. It was a mistake, but not one I regret.”

 

Pharma’s ego was blooming under the wayward praise he pulled out of Tarn’s words. Yes, he did have his ways. Yes, he had been the mech to have Tarn’s mind and will waver their obedience to his own code. It did feel good, like a balm on sore plating. Pharma sighed with content, shifting in Tarn’s grasp but only so he could nestle a little closer.

“I found out what happened to my alternate...Or rather, I found out what happened after what I remember. Our deal, Ratchet coming to Delphi, unleashing the Red Rust...My alternate succeeded in all that. And then became enchanted with Tyrest. The last thing I recall was making a deal with two Decepticons to help me destroy Delphi and my costly mistakes. I’m glad time travel returned me to you. I would very much hate to be dead at the hands of my former subordinate.”

 

Tarn took Pharma’s servo, kissing the back of it. Then his gaze sharpened.

“So you are not  _ my  _ Pharma then. That one is gone, perhaps he is even alive somewhere out in the galaxy. You are the Pharma of another of me. Interesting, isn’t it? There could be two of you, out there. You… and the one Tyrest has. Will I have to make sure you won’t grow so enticed by him, either?”

Ugh. Alternates. Tarn was still sore about the  _ Lost Light _ .

 

“The me that worked for Tyrest is dead. Definitely dead. I was told so, in great detail, how I would share that fate if I should step out of line,” Pharma contemplated if anything could entice him away from Tarn. Certainly not willingly. That toxic affection and addiction, it had grown into something with deep roots in Pharma’s spark. The thought alone seemed alien, to leave Tarn’s side despite of the fact that he still could strike terror into the medic. 

“I wouldn’t leave you, Tarn. And not only because I know how  _ kindly _ you take to betrayal.”

 

“Is this you promising me to follow me, no matter what?” Tarn’s intrigue at the concept grew, rubbing the blue servo in his idly, occasionally pressing brief kisses along the back. “I thought you scoffed at the idea of absolute loyalty. You certainly do at mine.”

 

“Perhaps you’ve infected me with it,” Pharma muttered, voice very quiet now, once again lowering his defenses to share a moment with Tarn. Which was exactly why he could so easily picture his place to be at this mech’s side. But in a moment of survival, if Tarn was no longer capable of protecting him? That’s when Pharma’s newfound loyalty would come to the test.

“It’s you I follow. I thought that was clear the moment I came with you on the Peaceful Destiny.”

 

Tarn purred in his appreciation at the words. “And you will always be rewarded, if you follow me. Promise me that no matter what happens, you will stay. You won’t ever betray me, or my trust. Can you say that, Pharma? Or will you disappoint me, like so many others have?”

_ Pax. Megatron. Nickel.  _

This was a pivotal moment. Tarn no longer toyed with Pharma’s servos, opting to stare at him with searching optics. He tried to remain casual, but the intensity lurking under the facade said this was more than a simple ‘moment’.


	4. Chapter 4

It was certainly a new experience for Pharma, to feel this scrutinized without being endangered. Tarn expected a lot from him, expected a very change in his nature. Pharma had been on his own for so long, surviving on his intelligence, his ruthless resourcefulness, and he was tired of it. He wanted to be protected, feel safe, no longer a toy bouncing between the powers that be. If all he had to do was to show Tarn how deeply he meant it, it was a challenge he could handle.

“I won’t, Tarn. I won’t betray you,” he touched the tankformer’s helm, servos light as a feather, “or leave you,” his blue digits traced over the scarred derma, “or disappoint you. I swear it on my own spark.”

 

“Good,” Tarn breathed, and leaned in again to kiss Pharma for a second time this night. It was more than insistent than before, as Tarn pulled Pharma closer and worried at his bottom lip with his dentae. He savored the kiss, the mouth those words of loyalty had originated, feeling some tight coil around his spark loosen slightly. It wasn't enough to heal the scars recent experiences had left on him, but it was enough to remind him that Tarn still had people dependent on him and his abilities.

He pulled back. "Such efforts deserve commendation," he said, trying to maintain his cool demeanor, though a smile threatened to break out across his face. It was stiff on one side, thanks to the scar, but filled with a fierce cast in them only preserved for his addictions.

Tarn rose, situating himself between Pharma's legs, and, planting servos on either side of Pharma, pressed a kiss first to to his cockpit, then to the badge on his chest. 

 

This time, Pharma wouldn’t be denying his just rewards. Tarn had seemed, for the first time, genuinely pleased, dare he say happy? Loyalty was the key. Good to know. Pharma would have to begin evaluating his own actions in terms of Tarn’s approval, at least until he became a respected member of the division. What that entailed, he didn’t know, but if Tarn was willing to reward his loyalty like this, Pharma could stand a lot.

The medic tilted his helm to watch. It did something for him, to have Tarn kiss the accursed symbol. Something _ reverent _ . Ah yes. This would definitely work to flesh out his fantasies. He flicked his glossa over his lips, savouring what little taste of Tarn remained there. His frame was already draped very enticingly beneath the tank, but he could put in a little effort to make his field more magnetic and his optics dim with unashamed arousal. 

“I agree.”

 

Tarn suspected that some of what he intended do might be overly submissive, but he couldn't bring himself to be concerned. Instead, he continued his path downwards, pressing soft kisses down Pharma's plating until he reached his hips. His glossa flickered out, pressing into the bottommost seams of the white metal that encircled Pharma's hips. He followed it, starting from the center and going out to the left, gently biting down on the grey protoform that peeked out amidst the colored plating.

Then he ventured back, trailing up the right side to do the same with the protoform there.

His servos wrapped around Pharma's knees, taking hold of the red metal jutting outwards for leverage as he pushed them apart. They were dwarfed by his servos, and his digits swooped downwards to touch the protoform near the joint. It gave him more space to settle his bulk, as Tarn adjusted himself to be a little more comfortable for what lay ahead.

 

Pharma could do nothing but watch. He was very curious as to where this was going. Tarn tracing so carefully over lining and seams had his sensors flare, frame growing tense with anticipation. Tarn’s entire form had massive girth and accommodating it between his legs was certainly difficult. Pharma adjusted himself, rested his torso on his arms and tried to free up access to where he was already uncomfortably warm. The pointed, long shard of metal that usually covered access to his vulnerable parts retracted very slowly, not wanting to seem overly eager. Although he could have spared himself the effort, Tarn knew exactly how much he wanted him.

“I...like looking at you from this angle,” Pharma muttered, almost wishing he’d kept it to his thoughts. He would kick himself if this put Tarn out of the mood.

 

"You can continue to enjoy it for the next part," Tarn murmured back. He took the invitation of the retracted plating for what it was and licked a wet stripe up the panel over his array. It was warm, and Tarn rumbled as he pressed closer, scraping his dentae over the smooth curve, and snaked his glossa into the thin space between his inner thigh and hip. He licked the protoform there, molding his glossa to follow each intimate angle of the heated metal.

Pharma's charge was obvious here -- he was crackling with excess energy and hot to the touch. Tarn purred, pressing his glossa against Pharma's panel again, before kissing it.

 

Pharma’s legs outright trembled when Tarn’s glossa touched naked protoform. The medic was absolutely sure that Tarn would take his time, make it last and that he shouldn’t get too eager right away, but how could he help it? He was practically conditioned by their interfacing sessions to react to Tarn’s desires, and they matched his own more frequently than not. 

“Tarn...” he whimpered, no shame in his voice for wanting what he did. He didn’t open his paneling yet, indulging in the way Tarn lathered it in affection. Pharma’s servos idled on the berth, though he wanted to hold onto Tarn’s helm. But that was a touch too invasive, even if he couldn’t hope to hold it still. Only when Tarn was kissing the panel did Pharma give him a wanton moan, field opening wide and cooling fans springing to max. The medic curled together a little, bringing his torso up enough for him to reach. He didn’t think about it, servos finally on that helm and pressing him closer for  _ more _ as the panel slid back under Tarn’s insistent kiss.

 

The tiny sounds that steadily crept their way out of Pharma's intake was more than enough to get Tarn's engine revving in reply. It growled as his internal temperature ticked up, vents gasping for air. They'd barely started but the anticipation was enough to send them both racing for the main show. Tarn kissed his panel again, finishing it off with a lick before meeting Pharma's optics.

"I want to taste you," he said, glossa flicking out to wet his lips. He remembered it, from before... though it had to be better from the source. Tarn had never had the chance to examine Pharma's valve all that closely, and here was his chance. He could almost picture the face Pharma might make once he started in earnest, and Tarn's vents ratcheted up as his temperature skyrocketed. 

The servo on his helm was... Tarn couldn't quite explain. It felt like being controlled, like being guided, all kinds of things Pharma shouldn't be doing in their agreement, and Tarn's frame heated all the more for it. A ping came from his panel, but he suppressed it.  

 

A thin whine escaped Pharma but he killed it before he sounded all sorts of desperate. His servos tightened a little, tracing the tiny, impeccable grooves on Tarn’s helm as he exposed himself to the tankformer. He had never felt shame about his interface array. It was a beautiful part of him that served to inspire his lovers and it was all the better than Tarn was this close to it now. Pharma wanted him to finally appreciate what he had taken for granted and for his own.

“Please, be my guest,” he purred, tugging a little on that helm, but it was a mere suggestion. He’d seen his own valve, he knew it presented itself as a delicate structure of white mesh and red calipers, illuminated by the gentle blue biolights along his nodes.

 

While Pharma might be unbearably arrogant, his pride often had a strong foundation under it. The lack of shame in displaying himself for Tarn almost felt like a dare, and it was a challenge he took on gladly. Tarn kissed it, swiping his glossa between the mesh, before angling up to the anterior node. Fluid gathered on his lips as Tarn molded his mouth around it, before giving it a  _ hard _ suck.

He wrapped his servos around Pharma's thighs, no longer trying to push them apart. The feeling of them around his helm was satisfying, since he could feel where they trembled when he worked his glossa. Another ping came from his panel, and Tarn let it through. His panel retracted, spiking emerging, transfluid beading at the tip.

 

Pharma didn’t get to see Tarn’s spike from this angle, unfortunately. His thighs rested around Tarn’s neck and his servos held that helm in place. It was different, very different, to experience the tankformer’s glossa rather than his claws or his spike. Good different, because it felt softer, yet still nice and thick. His nodes glowed, his circuits registering nothing but delight. Pharma took gulps of air, his vents cycling loudly.

“Oh Primus, Tarn!” the first act of sucking sent a billowing pulse of spark-deep want for more through him. Pharma wanted to curl around Tarn’s head and ride his glossa, but patience was a virtue he would not forsake here. He was already pretty attached to Tarn’s upper body, but now he was also bowing forward, bringing his moans closer to Tarn’s audials.

 

Pharma’s initial reaction to his suck drew a chuckle from Tarn, even as his charge spiked and he kept his mouth on the node. Taking his cue, he kept up the fast, hard pace as he picked up the pace with enthusiastic fervor. Pharma usually melted down into pleasure when they interfaced, but this new, active reaction was certainly welcome. Tarn sucked, hoping to draw more cries from him.

From where he held Pharma’s thighs, he could feel his desperate convulsions. Pharma was vocal in his appreciation of what Tarn was doing, and each moan traveled straight down to his spike, where it dripped, aching. Tarn groaned, entire frame too hot and his grip became a little too tight.

Experiencing Pharma’s valve this way was even better than using his digits, since he could simply  _ feel  _ all the little reactions with his mouth, push his glossa against the softness. The tight heat made him wish he could bury his spike in, but Tarn craved Pharma’s reactions too much to let go just yet. 

 

Pharma wouldn’t have been opposed to the spike, but Tarn’s glossa was  _ amazing _ . The medic rewarded good work and let his praise spill out in eager whispers. The way it pushed at his nodes without scratching or squeezing was a sensitive delight. Pharma could find pleasure in all of Tarn, but his glossa had earned itself a special place today. The long, delicate blue digits of Pharma’s servos stroked over Tarn’s helm with encouragement, the medic’s lips close enough to press a kiss to the warm metal before he threw his head back for another moan. There was no need to be quiet anymore. Everyone knew. Everyone could  _ envy  _ Pharma for his privilege.

He was going to overload if Tarn kept up this pace. His plating flared, his fans whirred and Pharma could utterly lose himself in this gentle coaxing of Tarn’s talented glossa.

 

Fluid was dripping down Tarn’s chin. He pushed his glossa into Pharma as deep as it would go, humming as he did. Tarn’s talent let him manipulate his voice in all sorts of ways, and his intake vibrated with the force of the notes. It wasn’t strong enough to affect Pharma’s spark significantly, but the notes he drew out were felt more than they were heard.

His glossa was less nimble than his digits and less filling than his spike, but Tarn could  _ feel  _ more with than the former two. He felt the mesh walls, the nodes embedded in them, even the rippling calipers. 

 

It was a plethora of new sensations and Pharma was greedy for them all. His grip on Tarn’s helm became hard as he tried to move his hips, fraction by fraction, trying for more pressure, more glossa, more everything. He wanted Tarn deeper and even though his calipers were trying to clench, there was not enough in his valve to warrant their contraction and expansion. Another moaned whisper of Tarn’s name, followed by nonsensical pleas for more and promises of obedience. Oh, Pharma would be good, so good, so loyal and good if only Tarn would carry on.

 

It was an unfortunate fact that, in spite of how much as the two of them wanted, there were certain limitations to using one’s glossa for penetration. Tarn withdrew despite Pharma’s pleas to the contrary, but quickly replaced it with his digits. He returned to suckling on Pharma’s anterior node while his digits pushed into his valve -- he was already slick enough that three digits would only give him the pleasant burn and fill he craved so much.

Pharma’s overload was on the horizon, Tarn could tell, and it wouldn’t take much more to push him over the edge. He doubled his efforts on the node, digits pumping in and out of Pharma while fluid flowed out around them.

 

That overload was oncoming rapidly and Pharma had no designs of being quiet about it. He warned Tarn maybe just once of it, then continued to drive himself as best he could onto those claws. Their hard scrape against mesh now and then was only increasing the sensitivity of his valve, already pleasantly spoiled by Tarn’s glossa. 

Pharma leaned his helm down on his arms, now almost completely doubled over onto Tarn’s helm, whimpering before his charge finally overcame all of his sensors, systems registering the pleasant white-out of overload as the medic clamped tight around anything and everything he could reach of Tarn.

Murmured, affectionate nonsense left his vocalizer, promising Tarn he’d always be the only one he would overload for.

 

Tarn used the one arm wrapped around Pharma to stabilize himself while he rode out the overload, still moving even while Pharma wailed above him. There was a surge of charge, some of traveling down and jumping ship onto Tarn, scalding his glossa. The rest crackled harmlessly down his plating as they expanded to release more heat.

Pharma’s overload drew him up tight as a bowstring, whole body trembling with the force of it as he cried out, loud enough that Tarn knew everyone on the ship had to have heard it, before quieting down to soft noises full of sweet, sweet promises. He waited until Pharma relaxed before shifting back, gently grabbing Pharma by the arms to give Tarn space to straighten up.

Tarn only had to look at Pharma briefly -- his blissed out face, venting hard -- before he was kissing him again.

 

Pharma could get used to this. Well, it was already part of his near daily life, but Tarn’s sincerity and affection had crested a new height and Pharma wanted to freeze it there forever, so it could belong to him and only him. His arms were slack in Tarn’s grip, his mouth eagerly engaged in kissing Tarn as gratefully as he could, because the roiling aftercharge of his dissipating overload was making his engine hum. Unmitigated waves of affection seeped through Pharma’s field, his spark racing with anticipation for...for what? The fragging? No, it was expecting more yet still. Pharma didn’t question it. There was the taste of his valve on Tarn’s glossa and Pharma  _ loved  _ it.

 

Tarn bodily grabbed Pharma by the waist, still kissing him, and moved them both higher up on the berth. He wanted to thrust straight into Pharma’s valve, but his need for thoroughness held him back. Pulling up Pharma’s leg around his waist, Tarn pushed in slowly.

The steady rumble of his engine climbed to a dull roar as Tarn drew a shuddering breath. It was different like, when he could feel himself sink deeper into Pharma inch by inch. There was brief resistance at each ridge, as Pharma’s mesh had to stretch to accommodate it, but Tarn was going in without issue. Pharma always felt too small in his arms, too fragile to handle a warmachine like Tarn, but he managed to surprise him by taking everything Tarn gave without hesitation.

Tarn groaned, loud and unfettered, against Pharma’s mouth as he felt himself slide in home, frames fitting together like puzzle pieces.

 

Pharma hoped to Primus that the whole ship could hear them, could hear how much they basked in each other. Their opinions and words meant nothing when Tarn felt this good, going in at just the right pace to give Pharma a perpetual desire to moan. Tarn was always a tight fit, really testing the limits of his valve, but the burn of his calipers and the press of that thick girth on his nodes was mind-blowing. He could only hold on and kiss Tarn hard, tracing his glossa over those lips that could utter his worst punishment and his highest pleasure.

How could he want any other mech after experiencing this? A lifetime ago, he would have scoffed at himself. In the arms of a brutal warframe, a Decepticon who had few equals in cruelty, and yet turned out to be the most attentive lover when he wanted to be.

Pharma tightened as best he could around Tarn, nodes flaring with stimulus. The creak of their frames together, hot metal on metal was enough to make him completely melt into the situation, giving over everything he had to Tarn. His chestplate ached, trying to part desperately and yet being restrained against Tarn’s thick armor.

 

Tarn held him, moving slowly so he could savor everything happening between them. There was no space for their powerplays here, no time for trying to win out over the other. Here, they only had each other, stuck in the moment and unable to look away.

_ This is a mistake _ .

Tarn shouldn’t. He should just keep going with the way this always went, not stopping for things like that. It would be the height of foolishness.

He looked at Pharma as his chest opened, green light falling out between them.

 

Pharma was dazed by the moment, green light mingling with blue as it played over their faceplates. This was too much.  _ Too far. _ They couldn’t do it. And yet he didn’t stop, he didn’t try to yank his spark in when it reached for Tarn’s. He wasn’t even aware enough to wonder what would happen should they meet. He’d never opened his spark like this to anyone. But Tarn...Tarn was all around him, within him, had his mind, his frame, his rarely seen loyalty, all in the palm of his servo and right now, in the grasp of his spark. Pharma opened his mouth, trying to speak, but the tendrils of plasma had already reached what they longed for. His optics blazed with the sudden rush of unexpected connection and there was nothing Pharma could do, it was too late to temper his walls. Despicable, traitorous emotions of yearning and affection, a spark-deep fear of death and everything, everything he’d ever felt towards Tarn, memories, thoughts,  _ fantasies _ , blown wide open for the mech to see.

 

Decepticons didn’t sparkmerge. It was dangerous. It was too close, too vulnerable for soldiers living in the middle of a perpetual war. Tarn had never sparkmerged with anyone, in this lifetime or in the previous. He’d heard rumors of what it felt like -- deep connection, being in each other’s processors, knowing and  _ seeing  _ everything -- and thought the idea revolting.

There had only been one mech Tarn could ever trust with that, and he’d betrayed him already.

As memories poured out from him and to Pharma -- brief flashes of Iacon and Orion Pax, then burning pain on his face, joining up, becoming Megatron’s protege -- all the formative, important memories that had made him who he was. The flood of emotions he felt for Pharma, the complex mixture of distrust, hope, lust, and everything else too intertwined to be separated went next. Finally, Tarn’s fears rose. His terror at being purposeless, the constant depressive fury he felt at Megatron, only held back with work upon work, and the yearning for someone to lead him again…

Tarn pushed Pharma with a wordless snarl. The connection between their sparks snapped as the plasma went too far apart to connect. Tarn moved back, almost falling off the berth in his haste. He backed up, off the berth, servo clutched over his still-open spark protectively.

 

Pharma couldn’t react, he just cluttered back on the berth with his mouth and sparkchamber still open, every part of him overloading in a manner that wouldn’t bring him any pleasure. His spark spasmed for a long second, reaching for something no longer near, before it pulsed ominously and retreated into its chamber.  Pharma cried out in shocked pain, unable to move or rid himself of the massive energy overload shocking his systems. Static ran over the medic’s frame, dancing back and forth until his optics offlined along with the rest of his systems. Sparkmerging was not common practice, and Pharma should have known better. Though in his current state, he knew nothing, because he’d gone into emergency shutdown. 

It was a wonder his chestplates managed to close, though his plating did no more than close the first armor layer.

 

He could’ve  _ killed  _ Pharma.

He still wanted to, as his sparkchamber closed, pulsing with the last of the blue plasma. Memories not his own played out through his processor, confusing him. Tarn was growing overwhelmed, arousal having fled and overload nowhere in sight, and he still had too  _ much _ .

He pushed away the bit of Pharma nesting in his processor, adamantly refusing to dissipate no matter how Tarn tried to get rid of it. Stunned beyond action, Tarn took a few unsteady steps towards the berth, getting back on again. He curled down on his side, staring at Pharma’s blank face with a look of uncomprehending bewilderment.

_ Too much _ .

Tarn slept, escaping the overwhelming feelings racing around his processor.


	5. Chapter 5

It took over twenty hours for Pharma’s self-repair to undo the damage done by their unwise sparkmerge. The medic didn’t have protocols in place to temper the raw exchange, and it had cost him a lot. Maybe everything. Certainly too much, because now, his spark was permanently tainted by the touch of Tarn’s. A small part of him had lodged itself into Pharma and refused to let go. That was all Tarn, of course, but it was extremely inconvenient.

Pharma’s systems finally allowed for a reboot, bringing him out of his half-stasis recharge into the murky realms of consciousness. Was he still on a berth? He felt cold. His entire frame had cooled down to below optimal operating temperature, only slowing regaining some heat with the sputtering start of his engine. It was dark. His optics hurt, everything hurt, and his plating was still half open. 

His sparkcasing ached like never before and Pharma clutched his servos to his chest. He was alone on the berth, Tarn’s massive size would have come to his attention if it was here. 

Something was very wrong, and very different. Fuzzy, static memories came to him slowly, of green light, of pain like he’d never felt before, fears he never knew he had because they didn’t belong to him.

Tarn’s fears.

Pharma wanted to empty his tanks when his processor violently reminded him of what they’d done, what irreversible toll their games had taken. Tarn knew everything. And he was bound to be angry.

And his spark. It ached and would not be content.

Pharma groaned as he moved off of the berth at a glacial pace. He needed to refuel, bad. And nanites. And run a spark diagnostic.

 

Solvent rained down on him in thick sheets, hot enough to strip away everything on his plate excluding the paint. Tarn sat in the washracks alone, hunched over, staring at the opposing wall glassily. His chest ached, feeling as if it was too filled and yet missing something at the same time.

He picked through the glimpses of Pharma the merging had given him. The memories and the emotions, traces of affection and yearning Tarn could’ve never seen if Pharma hadn’t slipped his hand so soon. Then there were the  _ fantasies _ .

They were of Tarn, submitting. Of Tarn, worshipping. The half-made, dreamlike scenes reminded Tarn too much of what he used to do for Megatron when everything used to make sense. He felt angry more at that fact, then he did at the fact that Pharma thought things like this. To that, he only felt angry for not being angry.

_ What is wrong with me _ ?

Memories slipping between his digits like silver fish. Everything becoming lost, surrendered to Pharma in an uncontrollable tide he couldn’t stop.

Thinking about it made his helm hurt.

Tarn should’ve been on the bridge long ago. Instead, he was still sitting in the washracks, trying to reorder his processor to handle everything that had happened.

_ What is Pharma going to do? _

Blackmail him? That’s not what his emotions said, but how could Tarn trust even his own judgment anymore, when it was exactly that that’d led to this mess in the first place.

Fragging Pharma had been fun. Satisfying. He’d enjoyed every moment of it. But this was too much. They’d gotten too caught up in their games, and now they were paying the price.

 

Pharma only heard the washrack in use when he got to the door, still moving so slowly it was antagonizing. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with Tarn? Sparkmerging like a couple of idiots. He felt insulted outrage that he’d been so stupid, that he opened up not just one, but every vulnerability to Tarn. There would be no living with him now, he would shut Pharma away and down if he was lucky. If Tarn felt enraged, it may just be the end of the line for the medic all together. 

The complicated mess of Tarn’s thoughts and memories was embroiled and barbed with pain and fear and it was too much for Pharma to delve into now. Not when he was beginning to understand that sparkmerging could have more of an impact than simply sharing the very core of their being with each other. 

Pharma stumbled back to the berth, sitting down because he couldn’t trust his damn pedes. At least he had retrieved some fuel and a diagnostic tool. He typed a sequence into it, one he had not used in millions of years, and sipped at the energon as the little tool began to float and scan him.

Pharma offlined his optics. This was a disaster. And he would scold himself for it until his dying day.

He was afraid of Tarn in a way he’d never felt before. 

 

He couldn’t sulk like this any longer. Nickel would be yelling at him to get off his aft and actually clean himself, then do his work instead of mooning over his problems again. Then again, Nickel had abandoned him too.

Tarn shut the solvent off and strode out of the washracks, not bothering to dry himself. It would evaporate once his body temperature rose again, anyway. He was preoccupied with himself when he got out, enough that he didn’t see the small frame on the berth until it was too late to avoid him.

“Pharma,” he said dumbly. “You’re here?”

Pits. Let the ground swallow him up and spit him out into a star somewhere. It would be mercy.

 

Terror gripped him like the very first time he’d faced Tarn, but Pharma didn’t move. His frame ached too much to offer him flight. He should have crawled to the medibay and at the very least avoided Tarn. He didn’t think the mech would ever leave the washracks. He was still steaming and smelled of fresh solvent.

“...I just woke up.” when had his voice gotten so thin? Pharma eyed the tool, still hovering around him, but just as he considered shutting it down and taking it with him on his way to the medibay, it beeped, announcing its finished process. Pharma reached for it and it settled into his shaking palm.

He couldn’t look at Tarn. Too much had happened between them now. It would never be the same and all he could hope for was a scan result that wouldn’t fill him with dread.

But some part of him knew luck was never on his side when it came to the tankformer.

He blanched as he looked at the diagnostic. Sure enough, there was his spark, damaged from the merge. It almost looked splintered, except that the small offshoot the scan showed wasn’t the same shade of blue as his own. Tainted green. 

“Oh no...no...no.”

 

Tarn looked at the tool Pharma was holding. “What is that?” His wariness grew when Pharma began to mutter under his breath.

Tarn crossed the room quickly, grabbing Pharma by the shoulders. “What is that?” he insisted, not understanding what the image showed. It was easier to focus on Pharma instead of himself, even if Pharma’s old memories continued to clamor about his processor. Tarn wanted to strangle Pharma for letting the merge happen, but he saw the terror on his face and found any will to be angry melt. He just couldn’t.

“Pharma, please,” he tried, the word coming out clunky. When had he ever said that to the medic?

 

The fear didn’t subside when Tarn grabbed him, but Pharma just felt numbness begin to take its place at a steady rate. This couldn’t be happening to him...with Tarn. Of all mech. Of course it was Tarn, he could barely remember a time in his life when things had not revolved around the renowned murderer.

The plea surprised him enough to pull Pharma from his stupor. He pressed a button on his tool that projected the results of the scan into the room, though he didn’t expect Tarn to understand. One servo clutched on his chestplate protectively, Pharma began to explain.

“I...oh Pits, Tarn I...this is...a scan. Of my s-spark.” when in his life had he ever stuttered before? Pharma’s dignity was outraged, but it was powerless before this reality. There was some cosmic entity out there in the universe who held Pharma’s fate and laughed as it was drenched in tragedy.

“This is...a newspark.” He pointed to the traitorous green among the calm blue of his own on the projection.

 

“A what?” was the blank question. He saw the blue spark -- that beautiful spark that he really, really should’ve stuck away from -- and the little green light jittering near it, but its meaning was lost on him. “What’s a newspark?”

He settled down besides Pharma, already unconsciously wrapping an arm around his waist. It felt right to be close to Pharma, even as a part of him pointedly reminded him that a lot of their troubles starting because Pharma was there being tempting and vulnerable, and he was doing  _ the same thing  _ with less interfacing involved, and  _ Tarn was falling for it _ .

He patted Pharma to try and help the growing hysteria.

 

Pharma looked at Tarn, disbelief wide on his face. Did Tarn really not know? There’s no way he would be as calm if he did, but still, the concept was so utterly alien to Pharma, who had enjoyed every education of his profession. Well he supposed they were lucky he did learn about this, otherwise neither of them would know what was going on.

The surprise cut into his fear, but there was still a muted part of horror, waiting for Tarn to understand. Murdering and rampaging across galaxies didn’t leave a lot of time for studying...but this was one of the basics of Cybertronian life.

“A newspark. A...part of you and I, clinging to me, its carrier. It...it’s a sparkling, Tarn.”

 

The words crawled through Tarn’s processor like hardened energon, squeezing square blocks past circular holes as it tried to connect dots that didn’t connect. He stared at Pharma, wondering when he was going to make sense, and realized no more was forthcoming.

He looked back to the image. Then back to Pharma.

_ Oh _ .

His grip around Pharma’s waist tightened, and Tarn yanked him onto his lap, holding him down. “We did that?” he said in a tone so mild it could only conceal screaming panic. “I… see.”

Still holding onto his calmness with the very tips of his claws, Tarn raised an arm.

_ ::Vos, I nor the medic will be reporting to our stations. You have command, maintain the course. Inform me of any changes.:: _

There was a snicker in the affirmative back, but Tarn didn’t care to adjust any misconceptions as to why he was going to be absent for the day. He held Pharma, looking at the floating image. Then he let go of Pharma, letting him slide back onto the berth. Tarn walked to the middle of room, and his T-cog spun into action.

A repetitive series of transformations, as Tarn paced, transformed, then paced, then transformed. There was hardly any space for it, but he continued this, until he could sense a sharp ache that warned him his T-cog had enough for now.

He transformed again, pushing past the usual limit. His cog heated inside him, warning alerts flashing to his screen, but Tarn continued until a sharp  _ crack  _ echoed through the room, signalling his overuse. The T-cog was scorched, the broken shards held in place in his internals.

It kept the panic back, long enough for Tarn to turn to Pharma and ask the important question. “What do we do?” 

 

Pharma winced when he heard the crack, but Tarn’s busted t-cog was hardly the first point of concern now. They had done something near irrevocable, and now, they finally both understood the consequences. Pharma huddled up on the bed, letting the scanning tool roll away as he contemplated the completely fragged state he was in. Carrying...was never something he thought about. Never something he wanted. And Tarn had the gall to be freaking out. He didn’t have the result of their mistake orbiting his spark, craving his protection and energy and love.

Pharma tried to ignore the sweet little stab that thought brought him. The newspark would love him unconditionally, without question, and now Pharma was no longer only responsible for his own life. Fierce protective instincts welled up in him. 

“I...could try to sever it. It’s a difficult procedure and I wouldn’t recommend it under normal circumstances, especially not in doing the surgery myself but...this...is your  _ sparkling _ . And mine. It’ll trigger protocols in our root coding to protect it, to preserve it, but if...if I can cut it out before, it may not affect us.”

 

“You want to kill it?” Tarn’s question was blunt. He wasn’t interested in the medical details -- Pharma could handle those later. The real answers needed to be out, before medical procedures came into play.

He looked down at Pharma’s chest, where the sparkling was supposed to be. It’d been green, hadn’t it? Like Tarn’s spark. They’d made a Point One Percenter, on their first try, without even meaning to.

Someone had to be laughing at them. The odds of that just  _ didn’t  _ happen.

 

“No.” Pharma didn’t need to think about his answer. It came as easily as the new instincts to protect this little spark that had chosen the worst time and place to come into existence. It’s nature as a rare spark didn’t even come into play, Pharma already felt carrier protocols activating. The clock on his decision was ticking rapidly.

“But I thought that you  _ might _ .”

 

“Why would I kill something that’s mine? It’s a  _ Decepticon _ .” Tarn was pacing again, though he’d given up on transforming. “What are you supposed to even  _ do  _ with it? Is it like those MTO’s? Can we just,” he made a gesture, “shove into a frame, upload information on it, and name it? And done?”

That sounded easy. He could do that. Why kill it, when a new Decepticon was dormant in Pharma’s sparkchamber?

“What are you supposed to name something like that? What will it look like?” Tarn paused, looking concerned. “It’ll have red optics, right?”

 

Pharma would have laughed, if the situation wasn’t so serious. Tarn really had no idea about this process, and his wild predictions and questions were on the innocent side. So he didn’t object to creating offspring with Pharma, which settled some of his fears. Perhaps it was time to give Tarn some gentle, educated guidance.

“Tarn, it doesn’t work like that. Newspark creation via merge is rare. And not commonplace anymore. But I do know the process. This sparkling,” he gestured to his chestplate, “will develop inside of my...gestational tank. I suppose it is a good thing I never had it removed. There’s no predicting what shape its frame will have, or the colour of its optics, though I have read that it depends entirely on the involvement of both parents.” Oh frag. He was going to get bulky. Dismay slithered into Pharma’s expression. The thought of him bumbling around in full carrying cycle was anything other than pleasing, even if it would not hamper his abilities to work.

“It takes a different amount of time, depending on the frame type...since you are a large warframe, chances are high it will also be one. Your cna will make up a fragment of the gestational fluid...” which meant they would need to interface a lot to keep Tarn as part of the blueprint for their sparkling’s growth, “have you never studied on the properties and multiple applications of transfluid? No, don’t answer, it’s not important.”

He sighed, rubbing over his faceplate.

“What worries me are the protocols it will trigger in both of us. This sparkling is connected to you too, Tarn. And from what I remember, both carrier and sire become extremely protective during the carrying cycle. It...won’t be easy to hide.”

 

“We’re hiding it?” Tarn snorted at the concept. “That’ll make everything too complicated. They know we interface, they can handle knowing this. They won’t be so condemn another Decepticon, even if it’s inside you.”

Tarn’s restless energy drained from him, and he stretched out on the berth with a huff. He drummed his digits to catch Pharma’s attention. “Come here. We have too much to discuss. Might as well do it comfortable.”

So. Merging resulted in a newspark, one that would develop in Pharma over time and then come out somehow. It would apparently look like them. The process would change some of their behavior into a more protective mode. “We can handle this,” Tarn declared after a lengthy pause. “There’s no time for uncertainty. At least this way, your loyalty has been assured.”

 

Pharma snorted but obeyed the invitation, stretching out at Tarn’s side. He was so ridiculously slender next to the mech...

“My loyalty to you wasn’t in question anymore, was it?” He didn’t really want Tarn to answer. It was soothing now to be near him, now that he knew he didn’t pose danger to Pharma’s life or his newspark. Primus, was everything going to center on this little being now? It better be worth Pharma’s time. It was already a result of sheer, dumb luck and poor decisions.

Warmth poured off of Tarn in waves, both from the washracks and the rapid transformations. Pharma would have to tend to that busted cog soon, but for now, warming up against the sire of his newspark held priority. 

“You know mecha can try for millenia and not achieve what we just did...right?”

 

“It was in question. Not now. But it was.” Tarn propped an arm under Pharma, and turned on his side to curl around him. Pulling Pharma’s legs close to his, Tarn covered Pharma as much as his body safely could. His servo went over Pharma’s chest protectively.

“They are not you,” he said, “Nor me.”  _ They couldn’t match us. _

He felt the flutter then.

Tarn jerked in surprise, before pressing his servo closer. There. He could feel the tiny flutter, next to the steadier pulse of Pharma’s spark.

“I can feel it in you,” he said, wondering.

 

Pharma chuckled at that. Tarn’s genuine surprise was a refreshing, unknown side to the mech and some part of Pharma contracted with sickly affection for him. 

“I told you it’s connected to you. Your spark. It can sense you, and you can sense it.” Pharma curled into Tarn, feeling very much like this was where he was supposed to be. The madness of the universe would never be unravelled, and Pharma was beginning not to care. It had thrown him to Tarn years ago and finally, he surrendered completely to his fate.

“It knows its sire.”

 

“What will happen to it if I use my talent?” Tarn asked, brow knitting. “I’d wanted to see how many times I could make you overload with my voice before you pass out. How is that going to work with…”

He tapped Pharma’s chest. “... that?”

Was it more susceptible, since it was so new? Did that mean Tarn would have to suspend his voice usage near Pharma?

 

“I don’t know if it’s on the same frequency entirely...it feels a little faster. Higher.” Pharma considered their options. This was probably the worst environment to have a sparkling, short of wherever Overlord made his lair. But Tarn was willing to adjust and yield to Pharma’s expertise. If he wasn’t so rattled, he might have preened.

“I don’t know enough about how you control your talent to answer that. But as long as I am not in extreme spark distress, I think it will be alright.”

Pharma had the unsavoury vision of Tarn singing for his sparkling, and an uncontrollable wave of warm comfort washed over him, his field and his spark. The little one inside of him echoed the warmth, reflecting it right back at him. Pharma never felt so at peace. 

“It’s...so affectionate. I never dealt with any mech that carried. The emotional range is incredible, and it’s just...a few hours old.”

 

“It was the beyond the curve in its conception, so I don’t see why its development would be any different.” Tarn stroked Pharma’s chest affectionately, visualizing the green little orb orbiting Pharma’s blue one. He still have a thousand questions about it, ranging from  _ how early can I train loyalty into it  _ to  _ seriously, we need a name,  _ but Tarn couldn’t bring himself to start grilling Pharma.

Slowly, softly, Tarn began to croon. It was the softest sound he’d ever made, pushing his talent into a direction he never used before. His power was kept low, to see how the sparkling would react to the soothing  _ greetingwelcomemine  _ that weaved around Tarn’s voice.

 

Pharma didn’t dare interrupt by making any sound or motion. This...was spark-warming. Honestly and truly, it showed a level of care he never expected Tarn capable of. Everything fell away, only the three of them existed. Tarn’s warm frame encircled Pharma, and his voice enveloped their newspark. Unmitigated joy was Tarn’s answer, sent in the crudest forms of expression from the little green orb. It was far too small and young to reply with glyphs or any advanced form of communication, it didn’t even possess an EM-field yet, but it amplified its response through Pharma’s systems. 

The medic lay still, allowing Tarn’s voice and their offspring’s bouncing, primary code of joy wash the last remnants of fear away. Maybe this had not been a mistake. Maybe this had been a very deliberate act of emotions that he had tried to rein in for far, far too long. Maybe the compatibility of their sparks had always been a factor in their attraction to one another.

Who knew? Maybe Primus, but Primus was dead to Pharma. All that mattered was right here.

 

Tarn’s song ended eventually, though he sensed the happy little flutters the sparkling sent at him. It felt right. All of this, felt right. Tarn kissed Pharma’s helm as his EM field expanded around them, watchful but relaxed. He wasn’t tired, but didn’t want to move and risk popping the soap bubble of this moment.

Things would work out, Pharma was beautiful, Tarn didn’t feel murderous rage for the last two hours.

“... so, you still owe me an overload.”


End file.
